


Darcy's Debut Mission

by FanficCornerWriter19



Series: His Reason For Pride [3]
Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, The Scarlet Pimpernel - All Media Types
Genre: Darcy's First Mission, F/M, Improv, Multi, a bit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 01:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13583109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficCornerWriter19/pseuds/FanficCornerWriter19
Summary: Fitzwilliam Darcy, gentleman and Leaguer, has been driven up the wall by the fact that not only has the League gone on at least one mission without him since November, Elizabeth Bennet of all people has had to live in the same house as him. Which is why he jumps at the chance to get away from the attractive female before he does something rash.Oh, and apparently Percy's gotten married since Darcy's seen him last, which doesn't help at all.Or: How Darcy has to improvise a plan because his cousin said the wrong thing.





	Darcy's Debut Mission

**Author's Note:**

> I'll have you guys know that the d'Arcy family in this story is entirely fictional - I doubt they were even nobility in the first place. But what I say about Darcy's origins is true - I'm pretty sure that Fitz has some French blood in him somewhere up the line. He IS a Darcy after all.

When Percy has recruited all twenty of us, I eventually realized that I was the only untitled member. The other nineteen had a title of some sort, but thanks be to heavens that they didn’t care – or at least Percy did not, and whatever he forbade was forbidden.

However, I felt an unrest, a sort of desperation to prove myself as equal to those whose status was higher than mine. The English nobility bred in my blood, no doubt, but I cannot help but feel that these men look down at me for being their only untitled brother-at-arms.

In October 1791 Charles Bingley once again makes a request of me, and I accept it. After all, the first request led to me making at least four new friends. What can be the threat of this one?

* * *

Or, at least that was what I thought at the time. At the moment I sit in my friend’s miserable library cursing the logic that brought me here. Not only am I stuck in one house with that – harpy, forgive me – Caroline Bingley, Elizabeth Bennet of all people had taken up residence here, though for a thankfully restricted amount of time. Now her memory remains in these halls to haunt me and I cannot shake her off no matter how hard I try.

I groan. Elizabeth Bennet is the most alluring woman I have ever encountered, and were it not for her very vexing relations, I would be in some danger. However, I am a Darcy. I owe it to Pemberley and Georgiana to marry the best possible candidate, damn love.

I sigh as I sift through the correspondence that has arrived in the past few days. Percy and the others had their first mission in November, and I almost begged them to take me with them, but Percy, upon hearing that Charles’ ball was on the 26th of November, insisted that I stay.

The League’s activities have begun, and I am not even there to fight with them. If only my leader was not such a dandified socialite!

I encounter a small, slightly off-white envelope, and I feel a thrill of excitement: into the sealing wax is pressed the image of Percy’s chosen insignia. I look around to check for any watchers – ridiculous, but a habit I formed in the later days of training – and I break the seal, almost ripping the stationery inside just to get at it.

It reads:

 

> _Dear Darcy,_
> 
> _I hope you have settled well in your friend’s neighbourhood, but I cannot spare you any longer. We need you, Darcy, and I must ask you to come to London immediately upon receipt of this note. Say it is for business or something – I haven’t time to make up an excuse for you._
> 
> _Meet me and the fellows at B——, the day after your arrival. We shall be there every afternoon. Do not fail us._

And, as we had agreed, there was no signature, only a drawing of the pimpernel. My eyes flick to the postscript:

 

> _P.S. Destroy this as soon as you have read it._

I stand, walk to the fire, and drop the note far back into the flames so that it burns completely. My heart pounds with anticipation. **Yes!** If I could do so without risking utter humiliation, I would jump for sheer joy. After weeks and months of training, my turn comes to put it to use.

I slowly work through the rest of my letters, scarcely unable to focus on my task. I note the errands in my journal, but my blood still roars in my ears.

Once I finish, I go to Bingley. “I must leave tomorrow,” I say. “My solicitor has written to me for an urgent task.” That is not entirely false. He had written to me, but it is not my solicitor that I will meet in London.

“Excellent, Darcy! You can accompany me then, for I have business in London as well!” He brims with good spirits that for once I feel no urge to rebuke, for I myself am quivering with excitement. His red hair flashes in the firelight, and I cannot but think of another head of hair that flashes in firelight.

 _Stop thinking about her, Darcy_ , I scold myself. _You are going to London for a mission for God’s sake!_

And so we make arrangements to leave the next morning. Of course, Miss Bingley pounces on us the minute she comprehends what we’re arranging for. When she begs Charles to take her and the Hursts with us, her kind brother cannot refuse. I groan again. Now I shall have to travel the four-and-twenty miles to London with Caroline Bingley of all people.

I sleep fitfully, my mind filled with possibilities and imaginations, plans and probability. Percy had singled me out as a promising strategist back in August, but I have had no chance to prove myself. This time, the etchings in my memory of those two maps of France shall be useful.

I wake early, as is my wont, and I prepare with a feverish haste I almost recognize as the desperation of the early days to prove myself. I go down to the fields and exercise both myself and Caesar, my faster horse, for the better part of an hour. It will take longer than that for us to start, so I have all the time in the world.

When I do return, to my immense relief, Charles’ trunks are packed and so are at least half of his sisters’. Astonished but pleased, I change into a more practical attire for travelling than my shirtsleeves and join them for a small breakfast. Today I chose an emerald green day coat that I also use for racing, for no doubt that is what Percy will want to do at Black’s, the club he frequents. My boots are black and polished so they shine, and I am dressed as impeccably as possible considering I shall be covered in dust in an hour.

One can do no less when one’s chief is the Prince of Dandies. Otherwise, what kind of Leaguer would I be?

The Bingley carriage is cramped when it is crammed with five adults, and so Bingley rides outside, leaving me with his sisters and his brother-in-law. I cannot tell if he is trying to spare me from stiff legs at riding, or punishing me by leaving me with Miss Bingley. I don’t care to find out.

Luckily, once she sees that I am absorbed in my Shakespeare, she lets me alone, instead whining to her sister about the Bennets. My ears perk at the sound of ‘the note will teach her to reach for the Bingley fortune’.

One of the things I have known how to do since I was a lad, even before I joined, was the not-quite-as-easy-as-it-looks task of listening while pretending to do something else. Reading for example, requires the turning of pages, and if the person is observant enough they notice that you turn no more pages. Ergo – they get suspicious.

But if they are known to you, you cannot simply flip pages at random times, or they notice that you read faster or slower than usual. One must be untouchably innocent when eavesdropping.

Amidst all that, it is no wonder that some completely forget that they were meant to eavesdrop.

I do not. I keep my gaze on my book, occasionally flicking glances at the scenery like I usually do, all the time training my ears on their conversation. I am disgusted with what I hear.

They sent a note to Jane Bennet implying that Charles was courting _Georgiana!_ Georgiana, who is not even out yet, likely will not be for the next year! Georgiana, who even Percy was willing to let me miss trainings to protect! How ridiculous and utterly disrespectful to my sister and to me. Faugh! I nearly snort in anger.

It is a long ride to London, and I have time to mull over what to do about the Bennets and the one infuriatingly attractive Bennet in particular. However, in the midst of examining my fascination with the second eldest Bennet, I fall asleep.

* * *

The next thing I know, Charles is calling me and saying, “We’re at your townhouse now, Darcy, you can get off now.”

I yawn and stretch. “Yes, thank you very much, old friend.” My long limbs are cramped from the time spent tucking them in, my legs especially. I clamber out and shake my legs about a bit before climbing the steps and entering Darcy House.

I only wait long enough for my hat and coat to be changed and then I am off in my own carriage, which followed behind Bingley’s. It is Caesar and his cousin Arion in the traces, and they bolt as soon as I touch them with my crop.

When I do arrive at Black’s at about three, the rest of the commanding few are already there: Percy, Tony, Andrew, Hastings, Glynde, and – surprisingly – a young Frenchman I have never seen before. With dark hair, fair skin, and dark eyes, plus certain condemning features, there is no mistake that he is French. I address Percy, confused, “Who is this fellow?”

“Percy!” cries the Frenchman. He has a rather pronounced accent, I note. “Is he –?”

“La! Of course he is, my dear Armand. He would not see me here if I had not called him.” Percy’s eyes laugh. “Darcy – Armand St. Just, my brother-in-law. Armand – this is Darcy, and sink me if he ain’t the most determined Leaguer I ever came across.” His eyes flick to me, and he explains, “Armand is an honorary member of the League. You can trust him.”

“Brother-in-law?” I stammer. _What trick did you pull on me this time, Percy? You’re married?!_ I realize that Armand’s last name – St. Just – is the last name of the lady Percy was so taken with earlier this year. Marguerite was her name, and I think I recall his saying that she was French. So this is her brother, the brother of Percy's wife. Was he not single the last time I saw him?

I bow. “It is an honour to meet you, M. St. Just.”

He looks surprised. “Forgive me,” he says. “I am unused to Englishmen speaking my motherland’s language so fluently.”

“Get used to it,” I tell him, smirking. “For you shall be surrounded by Leaguers like us who have trained to speak fluent French and other continental languages.” Armand smiles, and I am satisfied that we shall get along nicely.

But out of the corner of my eye I catch the slightest darkening of Percy’s electric blue eyes. I turn to him. His eyes droop, and he presses his quizzing-glass to his lips in a gesture I once catalogued as defensive – it tilts the glass into his mouth unlike his ‘amusing fop’ gesture, and I see the flash of his teeth as he nibbles on the rim. **Conclusion** : Percy is distressed.

 _About what?_ I wonder. I see that his eyes are focused on Armand, though vaguely, and I remember what he wrote to me of Mlle. St. Just last summer:

 

> _She is the most enchanting thing I have ever seen – and no, my dear Darcy, it is not because of her pretty face – although sink me if I don’t quite like that face as well. Her wit is a shining garden of intelligence, and I feel as though I could duel wits with her for days and never once get bored._

He is looking at Armand, who is now his brother-in-law, and is distressed, but does not seem to want comfort. **Conclusion** : Percy is having trouble with his marriage. I may be wrong, but I think not.

Once Armand is finished, Percy guides us to a special room that is reserved only for his use – and he locks the doors and checks the windows at least ten times before outlining his plans for the rescue of the d’Arcy family. I smile once he mentions the name. It is too much – too much – he mentions the name d’Arcy once again, and I burst out laughing!

“La! What is so amusing, Dar – oh! I understand.” He laughs along with me as Tony and Andrew look confused. “What exactly is so amusing?” asks Tony.

I chuckle, and stop long enough to gasp, clutching at my cravat, “Darcy – d’Arcy…. I shall be rescuing my cousins!” I laugh again as I mull the pun over in my head. The d’Arcy family is no more than distantly related to me, their English cousin, but the connection by blood is there all the same. I do have the tiniest drop of French blood in my veins from my early ancestor who gave me my surname.

Andrew still looks confused, but Tony catches on and laughs until we are all out of breath. Armand understands, and he laughs as well, thrice as much and Percy, Tony, and I, for he laughs for Hastings and Andrew as well.

I laugh myself out, however, and ask Percy to continue. A mischievous glint in his eye, he agrees and does so.

Our mission was easy enough – at least for Tony and Andrew: sneak into the prisons posing as guards, and spirit away the five of them in coffins meant for the guillotine’s victims. I nearly hop with anticipation as Calais comes into view, my boots tapping impatiently on the good solid deck of the Day Dream.

“La, Darcy, no need to destroy my good deck now, what?”

I turn at the voice to see Percy leaning on the rail beside me. “Aye, Percy,” I concede. “There is no need to destroy your deck, but I trust it is solid enough to withstand my impatience.”

“Indeed, my dear Darcy.” He brushes imaginary dust from his sleeve. “But never fear! We shall land soon and then we can begin our swashbuckling adventure, what?” I make up my mind to ask him even if he runs me through for it.

“Percy… Percy, what is wrong?”

Percy’s eyes shoot to me, and he airily waves my question away. “La, much in this world, Darcy. Like this demmed Revolution, I daresay. Why, if only –”

“No, I mean with you and Lady Blakeney.”

His eyes widen, and he demands, with no trace of his usual nonchalant drawl, “How did you know that? Did Armand tell you?”

I confess, “No, only that I saw you nibbling on your glass there back at the club, and you were looking at Armand. I concluded that something was the matter with your marriage, for you only ever nibble your glass when something distresses you – and Percy, I have only ever seen you distressed twice since I have known you.”

“You are far too demmed clever for your own good, Darcy,” he complains darkly, staring out at the water in a contemplative manner uncharacteristic of Percy Blakeney. “Sink me, but you’re right. Something has gone wrong.”

“Then –” I began, but was cut off by a crew-member yelling, “Land ho!”

“Good chat, Darcy, but I must return to my post like a good soldier,” Percy laughs, back to his old cheery self. I frown. There, near his brows, is a little wrinkle I knew means he is uncomfortable. _So be it, Percy_ , I vow. _One day you **will** tell me what the matter is_.

* * *

We discover that only four of the d’Arcys are at the prison – the wife and the three children. The husband is being interrogated, apparently. With his lightning improvisation, Percy has a new plan: I, along with Andrew Ffoulkes, Edward Hastings, and Alexander Wyndham, rescue the Baronne d’Arcy and her children, while he, Armand, and Tony get the Baron d’Arcy.

The rescue goes exactly as planned… until the younger d’Arcy boy, Antoine, says something in a voice that I think he meant to be quiet. It is not. “How are we escaping?” he asks in French.

I curse. The little fool! Of course, he did not know any better – he is only three. I look around as the tramping march of the prison guards rap ever closer. The plan has been foiled – Percy would not disapprove of my forming a new one. I whisper my instructions, and we flee, dragging the d’Arcys with us.

I pull them roughly, my mind flying as I estimate the time it will take to get down to our cart below. These are prison guards, they know that the d’Arcy family is not to be moved. Andrew, Alex, Hastings, and I batter down the door with the combined force of our kicks, and we rush to the cart. Antoine and his brother squeeze together in one coffin, while Gabrielle and her mother cram into another.

I see a cart full of coffins – empty ones – standing beside ours, and I form an instant plan. I check for watchers; there are none. “Andrew, Hastings, take the d’Arcys,” I command quietly. “Ride slowly when I start, in the opposite direction – for the Place de la Greve. Turn and head to the rendezvous point from there. Alex, come with me.

“Tell Percy that the plan was foiled and that Alex and I shall wait in Paris until I can secure safe passage or until he can return for us on his own. The usual hideout.”

They nod, Hastings looking like he might protest, but Andrew says, “God go with you, Darcy, Wyndham.”

Alex and I nod, and hop onto the cart. I snap out the reins and both carts start to rattle away – theirs slowly towards the Place de la Greve, and ours quickly in the direction of the port.

“What do we do now, Darcy?” Alex asks, as he sits with his back to me jostling in the cart.

I chance a look behind, and there are the guards. “Be prepared to jump, and meet me at the hideout,” I hiss. I smack the horses’ behinds for good measure, then I shove him in the direction I want him to jump. He does so, and I leap in the other direction, rolling when I hit the ground. I get up and walk towards the hideout with hunched shoulders and the wary air that all Frenchmen have these days. My height, like Percy’s, is unusual for even an English gentleman, and so I stoop my legs to hide my height. I am not quite as tall as he is, but I am still taller than normal.

I reach the hideout uneventfully, and Alex is there waiting for me. “That was brilliant!” he cries, springing to his feet once he sees me, but careful to be as quiet as possible, unlike Antoine d’Arcy. I huff at the memory of my young errant cousin. “Percy would be proud, Darcy.”

“I have my doubts,” I say drily. “I have cut some new work out for him – we cannot very well get home by ourselves.” I sit, and gulp down the glass of clean, if plain, water placed in front of me. “We have no valid passports.”

“That’s alright,” Alex says. “At least we saved the d’Arcys.”

* * *

After two days of waiting and planning, I hear a knock on the door, and a small card slips in through the crack between the door itself and the doorsill. I pick it up. It is a scarlet pimpernel. But I still look through the peephole. The old bookseller who stands there raises his head to reveal electric blue eyes that can belong to only one person.

I open the door, and let the ‘old man’ in. “Good show, Darcy,” says Percy, straightening his limbs once the door has fully closed. “La! If I were there, I could not have done it better myself.”

I crack a smile. “Thank you.” Deciding to play a bit, I add, “If I could not do this much, what kind of Leaguer would I be?”

“A demmed loyal one,” Percy answers, pouring himself a glass of water. “Plain stuff this is,” he mutters good-naturedly, sipping some. “Where is Wyndham?”

“Here I am, chief,” Alex says, emerging from the small bedroom on the right. “And here you are! Are we for England?”

“Yes, my dear fellow,” Percy laughs. “We are for England.”

* * *

I lean on the rail of the Day Dream, now in the comfortable clothes of an English gentleman, in my emerald green coat, and I smile. Today I helped a family escape on my first mission as a Leaguer. I feel proud of myself as I watch the sun slip over the horizon.

“Don’t get a big head just yet, Darcy,” Percy warns, coming up behind me. “This is only our second mission – those Frenchies will get a demmed lot harder to bypass before we’re through, what?”

“I know, Percy,” I say. I know the dangers that lie ahead, and I am not afraid to face them. With fire in my heart and the League by my side, I have no fear of death. “I am not afraid to die.”

“Sink me, but you should be!” Percy takes a bit of snuff – I can hear him sniffing from behind me. “I told your sister I would bring you back safely – oh no, I did not tell of the League, but I did tell her you were on a dangerous errand,” he adds in response to my raised eyebrow. “I told Miss Georgiana she would not need to bury her brother, so take care of y’self, what?”

Smiling drily at him, I turn and drop to one knee before him, my hand over my heart. “Yes, my lord.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...please tell me you got that last reference at least.
> 
> EDIT 10 Nov 2018: Cosmetic changes, tense flips. Adjustments to style change.


End file.
